Why don't you sleep?
by youronlyastory
Summary: The Doctor doesn't sleep, but why? A short explanation on why the Doctor doesn't sleep and what happens when he doesn't. Rose and The 10th Doctor post Doomsday.


The Doctor was running.

Not much changed there but he was running, really running. Running with determination and enthusiasm, just like he used to, just like they used to when she was there. His blazer; open at the bottom, was flowing behind him as his dark hair did the same. The TARDIS around him groaned at the rude awakening of trainers bombing her corridor floor but The Doctor ignored it. Fear drowned his expression as he threw himself through the doors pushing him faster and faster.

He'd been working in the engine room, right at the heart of the TARDIS when he heard it. He heard the scream. Sparkling blue oil was streaked across his face, hands suit. He was a mess, but he was running. He was going to rescue her, like he always did; he was going to rescue her.

Throwing the familiar door open he bounded into the room.

"ROSE!"

The room was empty. But he knew why. It happened again. He'd been too stubborn this time, he'd gone too long without it and it had come back to haunt him like it was always going to do.

"_Do you ever sleep?" She'd asked one time, hanging onto the side of the doorway, journeying to her room after an exceptionally hectic day running. The question has pondered in her mind ever since her first night in the TARDIS. She never saw him sleep, not unless he'd been poisoned or drugged, he'd never actually slept on his own accord. Or not that she noticed._

"_Yes…" he'd answered simply, avoiding her questioning eyes._

"_But not as regularly as 'humans'?"_

"_Goodnight Rose,"_

_She was a little hurt at his dismissal but was determined to find her answer. He'd never spoke to her unless he was feeling extremely sentimental or, at worst, they'd been on the brink of death._

"_Why not?"_

_She was so curious, always wanting to know more about him, so loyal; the rose to his damaged garden, literally._

"_Goodnight Rose." He repeated, looking only at the glowing console as he heard the rhythm of her words._

"_What happens when you sleep? Is it the same situation when you sleep as it is with humans? Or do you have to plug yourself into something?"_

_A sad smile lightened up half his face but he just couldn't answer her and he certainly wasn't going to lie to his best friend. _

"_Rose, please, goodnight."_

_She stepped that small bit closer closing the proximity. _

_Rose placed her warm hand alongside his just as a sign of comfort. He always held her hand in moments of danger or exhilaration. Holding her hand was a symbol, a last wish that The Doctor and Rose Tyler, the stuff of legends, were together even in their final moments._

"_I don't sleep because I dream." He answered finally looking from under his eyelashes and into the large and deepening eyes of his companion._

"_But," She began, "we all dream. What's wrong with dreaming?"_

"_Dreams are reminders."_

"_Why does that have to be a bad thing?"_

"_Because when you've lived as long as I have, done things you're not proud of, dreams are no longer dreams, they're nightmares."_

"_But surely, you need sleep." Rose had argued, trying desperately not to upset him but still in need to discover her answer._

"…_Not if I can help it."_

"_But, Doctor…" _

"_Rose Tyler, good night." _

_Their eyes momentarily sparked. Brown met Brown; delving into hidden questions, a hidden feeling, a hidden faith as they questioned each other's glance. The Doctor then shuffled, secretly suppressing a desire to utter those dangerous words, but as he did so, Rose leaped forward spontaneously and held his lanky frame in her arms. It was only for a few seconds but it was assurance that she was there. That she was going to return the favour and save him from anything, even if that meant saving him from himself._

_And for a few moments, she did._

Looking at the empty space, he couldn't help but take in his surroundings. Her room that forest green and open feeling, full of odd antiques from far of planets, full of her presence, full of that Rose Tyler perfume like scent. Clothes were strewn across the floor, hanging out of the famous black and red backpack. Photographs pictured the walls. The bed still hadn't been made and the softness of the rug was almost too familiar.

And with that the broken Time lord retreated out of her room for the final time, closed the door, painfully clinging onto the loss of Rose Tyler, and vowed never to enter her room again.


End file.
